


Silent Soft and Slow

by Anysia



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Slight spoilers, Snow and Ice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 02:19:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anysia/pseuds/Anysia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d never have thought that the cold would be cause for alarm, but that was before he’d met her, and before he’d nearly lost her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Soft and Slow

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry about the Frozen spam, everyone! This one comes from a prompt on Tumblr that I just couldn't resist:
> 
> "I like to think that After all the mess of their Frozen adventure that Kristoff kinda started to have this little tiny fear. That of which he HATED to see Anna cold. Like he would actually get nightmares in the Winter about her freezing to death. And since he is an ice man of sorts that doesn’t exactly help him."
> 
> Spoiler warning of sorts for the climax of the film — if you haven’t seen it and don’t want to be spoiled, I’d give this one a pass. Otherwise, enjoy!

It starts small, when the first of the leaves start to turn and the subtle bite of a coming winter hangs in the air.

  
  
Kristoff’s dreams are of ice and snow, as they often are, but there’s a sense of urgency to them, a discomfit, and he’ll wake, not remembering, uneasy and unsure why.

  
  
He’s tired on the mountain, a dangerous thing, and he snaps at the other harvesters too quickly and holds the reins to the sled a little too tight. One of them mutters about him behind his back as they light the lanterns after the last rays of sun disappear behind the ridge, and he frowns.

  
  
"I didn’t sleep well," Kristoff says, staring out at the icy slopes, eyes distant.

  
  
The next night is worse. Arctic wind slices and twists around him, biting snow and sleet against his skin. Sven is gone. Everywhere he looks is white. He hears his name, faint and weak, and panic overtakes him as he pushes desperately through the snow, tries to find its source.

  
  
He finally sees her, small and pale, hunched over, clutching her blue-ice hands to her chest, and she raises her head, sees him, smiles weakly and tries to move. He runs, faster than he’s ever run in his life.

  
  
It’s not fast enough.

  
Bulda’s voice is in his head as he reaches her frozen form, _a true love’s kiss, perhaps_ , and he knows that he’s not her true love but he has to try because oh God, _Anna_ , and he kneels down, reaches up to kiss her once, twice, over and over while snow and tears sting mercilessly at his eyes and she stays icy-cold, solid, still.

  
  
Kristoff wakes with Sven nudging him urgently, making a series of concerned grunts, and Anna’s name hangs in an unspoken scream on his lips.

  
  
He’s so tired that he can barely swing a pickaxe, and an altercation with another of the harvesters nearly ends with them both in the frozen river. He leaves the most experienced man in charge, unhitches Sven from the sled and mounts up, spurring him down the mountain.

  
  
 _Anna’s fine_ , he tells himself. _Anna’s fine._

  
  
But the air is too cold even in the valley, leaves falling around him as he breaks through the tree line, and the slick sheen of frost shines along the paths.

  
  
He leans into the saddle and pushes Sven on faster.

  
  
He’s exhausted when he finally reaches the castle gates. The guards stare at his disheveled appearance, but they’ve grown used to this odd mountain man over the past few months, and even if they don’t necessarily approve, they’re aware that the royal family does and they must abide.

  
  
They take Sven to the stables as Kristoff rushes inside, down familiar hallways and up familiar stairs.

  
  
It’s too cold in the castle, he thinks, and Anna’s frozen features are stark in his mind, panic and fear squeezing his heart as he picks up his pace, runs faster and faster and _please let me make it this time, please_ …

  
  
He bursts into Anna’s room, breathing heavily, eyes wild.

  
  
She looks up from the book she’s reading by the fireplace, blinking questioningly at him. “Hi,” she offers, a question in her voice.

  
  
He doesn’t answer as he roughly pulls the blankets from her bed and dumps them on her head, ignoring her indignant sputter as he wraps them around her.

  
  
“Did you make this fire?” he asks, eyeing the flames critically. He inspects the small basket of logs on the hearth and selects a few, carefully adding them to the fire just so. “There. That should be warmer.”

  
  
“I’m… fine?” Anna peeks out from the blankets, eyes wide. “Are… you okay, Kristoff?”

  
  
“Are you warm?” he asks, and there’s a hint of desperation in his voice as he drops to his knees in front of her.

  
  
“Um… yes? I guess it’s a little cold today, but I mean, it is fall and everything.” She manages to struggle out of the cocoon of blankets Kristoff had wrapped her in, only to frown as he reaches forward to carefully inspect the buttons at her shirtfront. “Hey!” she exclaims, crossing her arms over her chest protectively.

  
  
“Don’t you have anything warmer than that? Hang on, I’ll find you a sweater or something.” He starts to stand, but Anna pulls him down firmly to her, forcing him to meet her eyes. 

  
“Kristoff, what’s wrong?” she asks, and even though she has no idea what’s gotten into him, her voice is soft.

  
  
He stares at her, sees the dream (the memory) of her pert features frozen and still, and pulls her into his arms, blankets and all, and tucks her tightly against his chest.

  
  
"You’re still too cold," he mutters, half to himself, and moves them closer to the fire. "Here, let’s just…"

  
  
He stops as she curves one hand around the back of his neck and pulls him down for a kiss.

  
  
"Kristoff," she says quietly, looking into his eyes, "I’m warm. I’m okay. I promise."

  
  
He drops his forehead to hers, tightening his arms around her, and closes his eyes. “I… haven’t been sleeping well,” he says finally. “It’s getting colder out, and I’ve just been… remembering when…” He can’t finish.

  
  
Anna maneuvers so their positions are reversed, holding his head to her breast as she strokes his hair, his arms tight around her, the blankets tangled and warm. “It’s okay,” she says quietly. “I know you’ll never let anything happen to me.”

  
  
 _I couldn’t stop it last time_ , he thinks, but it’s hard to be afraid when his senses are full of Anna, her scent and her voice and the feel of her warm skin and gentle hands, and he’s suddenly tired, so tired.

  
Anna senses it, in that strange way that she reads him so well these days, and presses a kiss to his hair. “It’s okay,” she says again, holding him tight. “It’s okay.”

  
  
He turns his head in against her, presses a kiss to her throat, and his eyes are heavy, voice thick as he tells her that he loves her.

  
  
The last thought before he succumbs to sleep is how warm it is lying there in her arms.

  
  
When he dreams, he dreams of spring.


End file.
